Published May 1, 2022
by Richard Bateman
Remembering memory, it was beside
the mild edge of these soft and lapping waters
that I first set an anchor to thought, marking
the source like a waysign of lichening stone.
The synesthetic echoing salt-reek built
a hollow vault in which to pack away
this brief dabbling among shoals, folded beneath
my father's switched-on care and camera
where revisited and buffed like a chosen
gem, it reduces to an untrustworthy
certainty, ever more bold and confident,
fat with indulgence and layering,
replayed and photocopying itself,
constructing a quiescent coral reef
not brought to audit nor to give account,
of aimless purpose without end of lease.
Chronicled in sepia'd cine film,
this colour of ageing gives further proof,
not just that it happened but of its distancing,
like spaceships sacrificed to far stars beyond recall.
Richard Bateman lives on the coast. He has worked as a translator and editor. Now, he divides his time between his allotment and his work in planting a local forest of mixed native trees. He is married with three children.
This poem is included in Poetry World #3, published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Previously published in London Poetry Magazine:
My Beautiful Star
by Kerry Kendrick
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